


On the Verge of Doom

by Kronos



Category: One Direction (Band), Walking Dead, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Walking Dead AU, larry - Freeform, ziam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:15:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1562612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kronos/pseuds/Kronos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Zayn gives up, and Liam tries to give him something to live for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little experiment of mine told from Zayn's point of view. If you expect another chapter, I'd better get at least five comments. :p

Run. 

That's all I can do right now. There's nothing left for me to accomplish, no remnant of anything helpful to guide me. It's just me and my legs, running and running and running. I've been at it for a few minutes, and sweat is pulling my weight down to my fleeing feet. 

Moans, screeches, and howls deafen me from behind, the paradox that is a horde of walkers pursuing me. I've been trying to evade this herd ever since...

That. 

Ever since that, and for a good solid week I thought I had lost them. But no, no they only claimed the excess humans and converted them to their after life cannibalism. I had been asleep in a car whenever I heard the thumping and slapping of cold, rotting hands on my windows, and it was then that I had begun to run again. That was this morning. 

I wish I could just climb a tree, one that's high and strong enough to keep me there until I turn too. But I can't stop, especially in this forest. What used to be comforting foliage now flocks towards me like live obstacles, so it's all I can do to dodge and weave throughout the coarse trunks and shrubbery. 

Although, whenever I break through said shrubbery, I collapse down a steep decline in the terrain. No, I'm not a flailing whirlwind of limbs, but I am uncontrollably rolling. My knives poke and prod into my side, as do the dead leaves that prevent me a decent grip anywhere, and it's now that I realize that the horde would be following me soon. 

My gloves snatch at tree roots, rocks, and even the hopeless surface handing me down the Earth's face, but to no avail. I stop rolling, thank God, but I'm still sliding as if I was on a frozen and cascading waterfall. I should stop really, just fling myself into the mob and give them what they want. Yet, I have this uncanny problem with my body's survival mode taking precedence over my actions. 

A tree growing up from the upward slant of the hill catches me sideways so I dangle like a wet sock. A sharp pain becomes evident in my left shoulder where the tree is pushing me, one that promises a dark welt in the morning-- if I make it that far. 

Wailing, the horde sounds closer, more threatening. So, accordingly, I use my right arm (which is inconveniently stapled between the leaves and me) to wriggle away from the root. A new pressure forms on my upper arm, to which I squirm away from successfully.

The sliding slows enough to where I can pull myself to my feet. I drop a knife in the process, and I spare it a questioning glance. Is it worth it? Should I just go? 

A thud sounds from above, and I snap my gaze up to the high tree line I just descended from. The herd is unknowingly staggering through the shrubbery as I did, and I can't even see them through the amount of erected trees. I need to go, really. If I stay around any longer, running won't be of any help, much less a plausible option. 

So I pick up my large knife, and when I turn to run, I slam into something thick, but real. It's alive, I scream internally, but my body instinctively lashes the knife out at it. I want to stop, but now that I've started, it feels good to let off steam. They took everything from me, the walkers, and I may be beating the shit out of Bambi but I can't remember a time when I cared. 

A rough, sudden, and unexpected explosion of force ejects into my cheek, making me stagger backwards. My hand, still thriving on instinct, massages my jaw back into comfort. While doing so, I look up at my victim-- no, assailant-- who is armed with a loaded gun aimed at my head. 

He's alive, I remind myself, but up until twenty-four hours ago, I don't trust anyone. Anything. Any time. Hell, I've started second guessing my own nose too, especially when I forget it's supposed to be seen and on my face. 

The man seems adamant on pulling the trigger, but the scowl on his face reads otherwise, as if he's internally arguing with himself. The only noticeable thing I can distinguish about him is his eyes, because he's got some sort of manipulated bandana covering his face. He's dressed in a SWAT armor of some sort, save the mask. 

I glare, wide-eyed and expectant, into his hazel-looking eyes. He's frowning, even when the snarling and gnashing of decaying teeth grows louder and more prominent. It's like he's daring me to approach him, but doubting what he'd do about it. 

I juggle my knife in my palm, eyes shooting up the hill and back to him. He's not moving, but he seems a bit more determined each time I blink. I know he'll shoot if I move, I can see the shine of the bullet in the barrel. It looks better from a distance, I decide. 

"Well?" I dare to harshly ask. 

I want this done and over with. I've just ran half across the state of who-the-fuck-knows-anymore in attempt to escape an immense population of living dead, who, by the way, are responsible for the murder and devouring of my group and family. If this stranger before me, if he was anything as decent as he might have been, he ought to kill me. 

He frowns further, gun steadily aimed at me. The walkers are sloppily making their way down the slope now, and fear begins to pulsate throughout of my instincts again. They'll be here within a minute, if not less. We either split up, or he shoots. 

"Go on then, do it," I shout over the wailing avalanche. "Kill me! Do yourself a favor, you're wasting time!"

He looks away at that, upwards at the mortifying amount of walkers. I see a brief flash of fear push his eyebrows back, but as soon as it had appeared, it's gone. Said stranger looks back to me, frowning in what appears to be misunderstanding and astonishment. 

"Go, dumb shit, while you can!"

My pleas are drained by the first dead to reach the bottom, and all of a sudden, the man freezes. He freezes whenever I lift my knife, and remains that way whilst I slam my knife down into the skull of a carrion-covered walker. He, the walker, let's out a garbled slew of their foreign dialect as blood spurts from the new incision (and all over me, face included). 

I don't bother to look around to see if my assailant is still here, because he's probably left if he grew a pair. That's the strange part of the world now-- if you've got a set of balls on you, you run. You don't fight unless you want to die, such as yours truly. 

An obese man staggers over, to which I fling a blade straight into his eye socket. I draw another just in the nick of time to eject it deep into a teenage female's ear. The rotten flesh caves nicely beneath my touch, my blade, and I remember why I'm alive. 

It's because of them, the walkers. 

All of a sudden, I see red. Red being a hazy glow encircling my vision as I attempt to maim each cadaver as they did my family. I remember it as if it was just now, and I wish it was, because if so I would've used my remorse and dread as my accomplice. These walkers, this damn disease, it's all why I'm here. Unfortunately, it earns credit for the demises and graduates of characters. I hate this, this awful debt I'm in to this burdening disease. It's made me live on my own, but at the cost of everything I've loved. 

That was then. 

I don't love anymore, nor do I fear. I don't feel anymore, if we're being specific. This was all so traumatizing, and there's only one reason why I keep going:

Because I can. 

If there are walkers out there who were real people, generic and willing to live as I am now, it is my job to do what they couldn't. They fought for a cure, and I'm pretty damn sure they deserve one. So, as one member of mine once said, you either live or die according to your motives. 

An abrupt, faze-shattering sound blares through my concentration, to which I come to. In doing so, I wake just in time to realize I'm being pinned by a starving, clawing walker. She's squalling, and the booming sound repeats again. It does over and over while I feel around for a blade, rock, or even stick, but I can't manage the luxury. So, I quickly aim my hands on the half-ruined cheeks of the girl, grit my teeth, and brace myself for a bloodbath. My thumbs exert a force into her eye sockets, and she screams while I push farther. Her being a starving cadaver, she doesn't pull away, so I push forward as much as possible. 

This is grotesque, if anything. She squalls as various, diverse, and aged liquids are poured onto my face, neck, and chest, and while I claw at the insides of her eyes. I plan on digging straight through to her brain, making this one in particular pay for my burdens and past. 

Boom, goes the gun. 

Blood seeps onto my chin and neck as she goes limp. What in the Hell? I question my sanity as I push her off of me and immediately snatch up the knife from the not-so-fortunate fellow and run. The snarling sounds as it did yesterday, whenever they were tackling me from the adumbrations surrounding my dead family. It's all the same, I think, because there's no point in stopping for a breath. Like the Bermuda Triangle, all the pain will just restart. 

Boom, goes the gun. 

A spiraling pain sends me to the earth, and a nearby walker pod spots me. They gape like fish do, their tongues forming weird languages in their throats as they close in. What the fuck? Who's shooting me?

I look around, and just as I look back, I see that my leg is shot. Blood flows steadily from it, but my biggest worry for now is the numbness of it all. A silhouette leaps over the evening light, temporarily blinding me, and lands smack dab in front of me. I see dark, stained combat boots approach the walkers before me stealthily, their moves each with purpose. It's the same man, why is he here?

More importantly, why did he shoot me?

He lets out a loud, resounding yell as he attacks one, shoots another, and attracts one on the side. The one he is tackling now has his entire attention, him straddling it on the ground fiercely. He raises and slams the butt of his gun onto the creature, not really aiming. You wouldn't aim well either if you had a writhing cadaver between your thighs. 

The attracted walker stumbles closer to him, completely ignoring me. I lean all my weight onto my elbows, forcing my healthy leg up beneath my abdomen. I then push back on the ground, exerting a force that sends me upright on my leg. Without much balance, I hobble forwards, checking my holsters for my single knife. I feel slight relief knowing I have some form of protection, no matter how small or sharp the material is. Thankfully, sharpened machetes are my protection right now. 

I pull out the knife, hopping forwards just as the other walker threatens to grab the man. An indecipherable shout evaporates from my throat, making my uvula vibrate like an earthquake, causing said walker to cast me a mummified stare. He contemplates between the stranger and I, then chooses the one with a dangling leg. 

Okay, Zayn. Now what the fuck are you doing, saving someone else? You just went over a whole sermon about how you were going to live for those who couldn't, and know you're (suicidally) hunting a walker twice your size. You obviously don't have a pair. 

And you talk to yourself. 

I am going insane, yeah, but I'm still alive. As long as I am, I have nothing to regret. Not yet, anyways, because this may as well be the first. 

I charge. I'm that fucking stupid. I charge, engulfing my perfectly capable arms around my opponent's rotten, barely clothed torso, and slash every which-way with my blade. Blood begins to shower me again, only with the company of stench and flesh. I claw upwards on the writhing body, trying to ignore the grasping hands and clanking teeth as I stab forwards, penetrating all flesh and forest floor in my wake. Eventually, I manage to straddle the being with my weight all on one leg, still wincing at the quarter-sized bullet hole giving out my blood for free samples. 

I stop stabbing, leaving the blade in the air, clenched in my fist, aimed to stab, kill, do whatever it needs to do. Moaning sounds loudly, and I know that with my wound, I'll die here. 

Boom, goes the gun. 

I turn around rapidly, seeing my assailant-slash-hero-slash-assailant crumpled beneath a walker. I look up at the herd still plummeting down the slope, only now realizing that we'd-- I'd attacked the first strays. My eyes glance down at the man, who's shoving the truly dead off of him. He looks around too, also dazed, then his gaze lands on me. His bandana has shifted only enough to reveal his nose, which he corrects before making his way over to me. 

I watch him tower over me, as if making sure I'm actually there, then his frown dissolves. He and I, we're painted in blood. Even though that should disguise us, it doesn't, and more staggering zombies come our way. I look around and down at the disfigured face, still poising my machete, and I feel doom. Doom is exactly what I feel, because I know he doesn't have a group willing to take in someone like me. He doesn't want to either, he may kill me too if the walkers don't. 

He doesn't. 

Instead, right as I'm on the verge of passing out, he picks me up. He carries me, and the last thing I collect before being drowned by oblivion is,

"Thank you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo. Someone cheated on the whole comments deal, but I love them so much for doing that. That's why this is here, and that's why Liam comes into the spotlight next chapter. Five comments again?

I wake up in a cell, in a large and (assumed) empty block. My leg is bandaged, though I can feel a stinging poultice beneath the wraps. My left shoulder, not visible beneath a clean, black, long-sleeved shirt is still bruised and slightly swollen. Although not to my surprise, my leg feels even more swollen than my shoulder does, which, I expected. 

Actually, no, I expected death. Where am I, besides an obvious jail? Usually, after passing out whilst bleeding out one would die. What made me so special this time around?

Suddenly I hear faint clicking down the stone hallways. A grease-deprived gate squeals open, then shut again, and the clicking continues. I lie with my body in perfect posture, head tilted back against the thin mattress. Yeah, I actually have a mattress. I haven't had one since right after this whole epidemic started, which was about two, three years ago? Doesn't matter, it feels fantastic. 

"Hershel," Someone hisses off about as far off as the gate sounded prior to this ordeal. "Let me in with you. He could be dangerous."

"You mean he could be asleep?"

The second voice is elderly, somewhat raspy. It's aged to all heck, and I can tell the man is coming closer by the louder clicks. What is he even doing, wearing stilettos? 

"Hershel, I'm serious," The masculine voice mutters again. "Let me in."

"I'm serious too. I trust him, he saved Liam's life." 

"Yeah, right after he tried to end it."

"Would you be quiet, Glenn? You worry too much. Go check on my daughter, see to it she gets some breakfast. Make sure Beth does, too." The old man, Hershel, says just before his clicks stop. 

I keep staring at the ceiling, wishing away my pain and that I had my blades... My blades! Where are they, I had them right on my waist when I--

Fuck. 

This is what I get for trying to help someone, now I'm caged like an animal. This is what good acts of kindness during a zombie apocalypse gets you, so be prepared. God, I should've kept running. I knew, deep down, that if the stranger introduced me to his group, there would be conflict. Guess who was right?

"You up?" Hershel's voice addresses me and me only this time. 

I contemplate answering at all, but wind up loudly exhaling. Hershel must be opening my cell, because the screaming rusty metal from down the hall sounds ten times louder. He also must leave it open because it doesn't scream shut. I hear non-rhythmic clicking and it's all I can do to force myself to stare up at the ceiling. 

"I'll take that as a yes," I can hear the old, feeble smile in his voice, and I picture what he could look like. Hershel fidgets with something, something I didn't know was in the room, and pulls my interest. "You might want to use these to get down to breakfast."

"Who said I was eating?" I shoot back, only half-regretting my harshness. 

"No one did, I just figured you'd want something to keep your blood flowing." 

"Well, I don't, so toss the food at someone else."

There's a brief silence. I don't think it's awkward or tense, much less respectful, but it's comfortable. It's understanding, Hershel understands why I'm upset. Either that, or he expects me to kill him. 

"I'll keep it warm for you." The clicks restart, and this time, they recede. 

I'm very much tempted to go and follow him, but then again, I shouldn't trust an accomplice of who entrapped me. I should've ran while I could, if I would've, I could be safe now. 

That, or dead.

The clicks are more hurried as they leave, and I can count how many Hershel took on his way out. He took thirty-seven, not including the ones used to open, close, and abandon the main door. There's muffled voices, Glenn's included, and I suddenly feel a sharp pain in my leg. 

"Shit," I gasp, sitting up too fast. My left shoulder begins throbbing, which, I move to clamp said shoulder and wind up on my ass on the floor. I snarl through my teeth loudly in pain, and I feel a burning, pressuring, and pulsating force emerge in my leg. Immediately, I hear a louder spur of voices and the scream of the door being flung open, but my focus is on my stained bandage. Most of it is dried blood, brown material spread in a large area over my shin. My shin?

Who the Hell ripped open my pants?

I groan in suffering and pull myself to my foot (yes, foot) using the wall. A rickety pair of crutches, the things Hershel must've been toying with a minute ago, is set in the corner nearby. I hear hurried footsteps, and they're getting closer, so I snatch my crutches and push on my cell door. Surprisingly, it opens, and I struggle to balance on my newly found legs as I stumble into the open. Someone's rushing towards me, a middle-aged man with one hand on his gun and another spread out in front of him as, what I would presume, a precaution.

"Kid, before you go and eat with the group, I'm going to need to ask you three questions." 

"And," I pause, raising my brows sarcastically. "Who the fuck are you?"

"My name's Rick Grimes, and what I say goes. Now, if you want to stay here, you need to answer three questions. That's it, and then you can join us."

"No, no fucking way," I grunt, scowling at him immediately. "I don't want to stay here. As far as I'm concerned, I want to run with a shot leg as far away as I can."

"I'm sorry about that, but--"

"No, just take your damn crutches and let me crawl out there." I shamble away, my hands guiding myself against the wall as I hobble past Dick or whoever the fuck he is. 

Unbelievable. 

"Hey, you can't go into the main cell block." Dick warns. 

Unbe-fucking-lievable. 

"So you're telling me," I spin around, glaring Dick away into dust as much as possible. "I can't go anywhere until I answer some damn questions?"

Dick lowers his gaze, yet still manages to tower over me as I lean onto the wall. His eyes catch somewhere, and he calms even more than he already is. 

"You're bleeding." He states, and I look to my leg once again. 

Sure enough.

"Thank God."

Dick quiets, his gaze flickering to the far off gate. It remains there, and he shakes his head slowly, then stops, then starts quickly again as if to prevent himself from making a specific choice. He looks from the gate, to my leg, and finally up to me. God, the audacity of this guy astounds me. At least he lives up to his name. 

"How many walkers have you killed?" He asks softly. 

"As many as I needed to, and then some."

"How many people have you killed?" 

I silence myself. Is it my fault my group is dead? Is it my fault that I've lost ten lives that I tried so hard to save?

"Ten." I say, my eyes trying to peel my wound open more out of self-hatred. 

"Why?"

I pause, recollecting the events of the day before yesterday. My chest hardens as I think about it, about them telling me to go, run, they'll be right behind me, and me believing them. But they came after me after their brains had been tainted, and I couldn't bring myself to kill them off. The herd was big, coming down on me like a portion of the Pacific Ocean, and I couldn't spot them out of it if I tried. I did, trust me, but God hides things for a reason. 

Hah, God. The guy upstairs having a field day with Satan at our expense. 

"I didn't move fast enough." I reply just over a mutter. 

Dick nods, his calm aura soothing my mourning one considerably. I realize that I just gave him the three answers he wanted, but Hell, I needed to say it for my own closure. If I wouldn't have, I'd have torn off my leg and killed people with it. People after walkers. 

I bet they'd be like bloody piñatas. 

"Here," Dick hands me my crutches which I now feel miserable without. "Let's go eat."

"You haven't eaten yet?"

"I don't eat unless everyone else does. That includes you."

Okay, I like Dick... Or is it actually Rick? Doesn't matter, I like him. He's like a calm storm, going wherever he pleases and meaning business. I appreciate men like him because they remind me of my father, who--

No. Don't, Zayn. Don't open that door anymore. You have to keep going, like mom wanted, like she--

I purposefully stumble so that my shin grazes the bar door and sends a surprising shockwave up my leg and spine. The pain disturbs and comforts me at once, so I decide to just leave it be since I'm tracking blood through into the main cell block. 

People look up at me one by one. There's some Chinese dude with a tired looking girl his age sitting at one table, Hershel and a younger teenage girl with blonde hair at another, a kid with a group of guys, and a buff looking guy about Rick's age pointing a crossbow at my face. I love the feeling of being welcomed like I did back...

No.

"What's he doing out of the cell block?" Crossbow asks. 

I roll my eyes and hobble off to an empty table, setting my crutches against the seat and clambering to sit on top of it. I have at least a dozen pairs of eyes on me, to which I avoid by picking at my bandage. Fresh, red blood seeps from the hidden wound, and although it's mostly concealed, my calves have never looked so muscular and taut. Now that I think about it, I was exhausted to the point of passing out. There's no way I just woke up the next day.

"How long was I out?" I interrupt Rick and Crossbow's conversation.

Rick spares me a look, then replies, "You were brought in at nightfall two days ago." 

So my family didn't die just the day before yester...

"Who fixed my leg?" I ask, still being watched by everyone. 

"Hershel did," Rick gestures to the smiling elderly. He's not exactly how I pictured him, what with being scrawnier, taller, and younger than I'd figured. "He used to be a vet."

"And you?" 

I don't know where this streak of curiosity came from, but it's a refreshment from my daily default of fear and mistrust. Yeah, we had trust issues all the time in our little pack or whatever. It was funny, sometimes, because...

God, I need to grow up. I have to forget that. 

"Sheriff." 

I could've guessed that just by his stature, calm and composite as any officer should be. I nod, keeping my eyes now on my bleeding wound. Before I can ask Hershel to look after it, he's already up on his... Foot?

"You need a new bandage there, son." He admits, then looks to the table full of guys and a kid. "Niall, would you go get me my first aid kit for this young man? It's on my bed in my cell."

A blonde-haired, blue-eyed guy tears his glare away from me and nods, standing up to his full height (which, isn't much by the way) and he goes to another cell block with homier accommodations along the halls. He disappears for a moment, and I let my eyes go to Hershel's leg. Actually, I peer at his missing one, which just so happens to be on the same side as mine. 

"What happened?"

Hershel looks to me casually, as if he's heard this question ten times over. For all I know, he probably has. 

"A walker bit me as we tried to figure out if there was a breach or not, and Rick cut my leg off before the disease could get to me. Come here, let me unwrap your dressing." Hershel speaks as if he's known me all his life. 

I guess he's easy going like that. 

"I don't believe I got your name?" Hershel says, and the entire room quiets. 

Everyone must've heard his interrogation, because they have all frozen in place like this is something they need to hear more than if a cure has been found. The couple at the nearby table, they stare at me expectantly, but not exaggeratively. Crossbow narrows his eyes and crosses his arms at me, to which Rick follows lead. Do names really matter to these people? By the looks of the all-boys table, yes, they do. 

"Um," I squirm as Hershel tugs at the wrap. I pretend that something shocked me so that I can be distracted, and that's fine by me. "Ouch, fuck."

Crossbow laughs, and Rick chuckles. It's like the air of the room lightened at my curse word, but whatever. As long as no one wants to hear my name anymore, especially because it isn't all-fired important. 

The boy, Niall, returns, and sits beside Hershel as my wound is revealed. I almost want to touch it, vomit, laugh, and cry all at once. I got shot by someone who's life I saved. Niall huffs, and I can't tell if it's in amusement or not. I know Hershel is definitely not amused, because he frowns at the incision and Niall at the same time. Don't ask me how, he just did. 

"I always knew Payno was a bad shot." He mutters to everyone but me, a smile on his lips for only his peers. 

Crossbow scoffs, "You can say that again. Where is that son of a bitch?"

"He's either asleep or showering. He still seems traumatized from what happened." Niall says, his eyes on my wound. 

I catch everyone staring again, and then the silence takes over. No one seems willing to ask me anything. Maybe they suppose that they would be getting too personal by doing so, which, they'd be right over. 

Hershel picks and prods at the stream of blood, then notices that the bullet hole is still open. He sighs impatiently to himself, then lets his hands go back to digging. What's wrong? Why is he still gazing at my open wound like it's a dead puppy?

"I need to stitch it up." He murmurs, not looking up from his little quest. 

"Okay." I shrug. 

Everyone's stares harden. It's pretty provocative to let them possible ruin my leg, but it's either that or no leg. They've made that decision before just by looking at Hershel. 

"But, son," He says grimly, ruefully meeting my gaze. "The bullet's still in there."

Oh.

"It's... Why? Why didn't anyone take it out earlier?" 

The low hum of other conversations dies. All gazes are on me, except now, they're of pity. I finally meet a few-- Crossbow's (which is turned away now), the couple's, the youngest boy, and the girl Hershel was sitting with-- and all are comprised of the basic components of guilt. 

Suddenly, the pieces all align. I don't know why I didn't see it before, of course they thought of this. Hell, I even did when I woke up. 

"You didn't think I'd make it." I say, sounding more dumbfounded than hurt. 

"Well I'll be damned," A boy amongst many says. "He's attractive and smart. I can see why the walkers were all over him."

A chuckle escapes Niall, his façade of sincerity not following his lead whatsoever. I still frown, because despite the compliment, there's still a wave of guilt to be extinguished. 

They didn't think I'd make it? Should I have? My mind aches already from the weight of both questions, their answers serving as blank spaces in my mind. I don't know if I'd prefer blank spaces or filled ones. 

"Yes," Hershel speaks up. "You were just about bled out when one of our members brought you in. He said you'd risked your leg and life for him."

"Yeah, well. It's something to right my wrongs." I murmur a reply. 

Hershel nods, as if I'd said a correct answer. "There's not really much you can keep doing to impress yourself if it ends up with you almost dying. That sort of correction you did... It was dangerous."

"Yeah," I can feel the audacity of my voice fading like a soundboard. "Even if I did die, it wouldn't have been enough to right my wrongs."

Hershel, who has finally located a needle and thread, looks up pitifully. I know he doesn't want to do this, and if he does, I doubt I won't feel it. The old man poises his needle, and, right before he can start, I pull back.

"Wait," I say, frowning. "Isn't there a bullet still in there?"

Hershel nearly laughs, then scowls at his own forgotten task. 

"Yeah," He mused sheepishly. "We might want to get that out."

"I'll do it." I blurt. The stares all gape, but I just keep talking. "I'll take it out. You can do the stitches, but I want to take out the bullet."

"Okay, but why?" Hershel questions. 

"Because I've done it before, and if it's the same to you, I wouldn't want a stranger pulling anything out of my leg if I can help it." 

Hershel half-smiles, then digs in his suitcase of a health kit. He extracts a scalpel, pair of tweezers, and a pair of pliers for me to use. He takes a few bandages for himself as a precaution, then looks to me to go on ahead. 

Right. This is gonna sting like a fucking bee. 

I equip the scalpel, and bend my leg so that it's more convenient to prod at. I gently feel (with my free fingers) where the wound bulges the most. Okay, it already hurts like a bitch, but I need to do this. 

I have to. 

My scalpel pushes into the wound slowly, rearranging the muscle and tissue there in my shin until I can find the small cavity the bullet left in its wake. I prick over the insides, drawing a bit of blood, but managing to control my tolerance levels. The cavity is going to be small, because my muscles closed in around the metal bullet as if it were a penny in a marshmallow. That's how bodies work-- they do what they can to keep moving. 

Suddenly, my scalpel skips over a dip in the muscle. I frown at the sharp pain and backtrack, waiting to feel it again. Sure enough, the scalpel smoothly glides over the area again, and I relocate it under the burning sensation of a thousand glares (literally).

The small blade pushes in, and I snarl whilst gritting my teeth in the pain. This is going to be worth it in the end, it's just a matter of making it there. I can do this, I can. A small leak of blood paints my fingers, which, are manipulating the metal forward until it grazes something hard. For a moment I panic, is that my bone? But no, the hard object shifts under the force of my scalpel, causing me to growl out my pain through flared nostrils. 

Mother of God, this hurts. 

"Tweezers," I snarl, but out of suffering. "Please."

Hershel pushes them over, and with my free hand, I pick them up. I'm staining their nicely clean table with blood from my skin and wound. At least my shirt is clean, which, is my next question. 

But first...

I push the scalpel into the bullet so that there's a fissure between the muscle and metal. I poise my tweezers, first having to find the small cavity once again. It hurts more this time, especially when the tweezers are going to be spread. 

I turn my head and bite my right shoulder, looking over at the wall instead of the crowd. I feel the cavity spread and slick with blood, and try to bite out a chunk of my shoulder in pain. 

You've got to keep on, Zayn. 

I pant slightly, now spreading the tweezers until they clack around between the bullet and my muscle. I whine out, low and steady, because holy shit I've been shot. My teeth pull and chomp at my shoulder, and I feel pain shoot up to my skull from said shoulder. Nonetheless, I'm blindly managing to get the tweezers around the butt of the bullet. 

With another snarl, I push farther than the bullet, and clamp into a ridge that defines it for what gun it goes to. The ridge helps me anchor my tweezers, and I keep my scalpel steady as I yank back on the bullet as hard as I can. I hiss loudly, like a wounded mamba, then growl as I pull hard on the object. It comes out of the cavity quickly, and on any other occasion, I'd be a bit nauseous. 

"Fuck," I snarl, dropping my bloodied tools. I roll the bullet in my hand before clenching it as the throbbing sting begins. "Fucking Hell, that was a terrible idea."

No one says anything while Hershel cleans my wound. He redresses it, using some antibiotic creams I've ever only always heard about. I earn myself about five large pills the size of Texas, where that is I have no clue, and swallow them eagerly as a distraction. This hurts so badly. 

In fact, I let Hershel manipulate my leg however he wants, and I lay back on the bloody table. If they give me shit for ruining this damn shirt, tough, because I never asked for it. I never asked for any of this, especially the bullet that was inside me for over three days. 

I feel dizzy, and the pricks from Hershel's needle don't seem so real anymore. I'm going to bet it's all the drugs, and I am definitely not complaining about that. It feels good to not feel, I decide, and let the medication reign over my body as it all tugs me under again. 

\---

When I wake, I'm in my top bunk again. Only this time, my leg doesn't hurt near as much. I still have a bit of a headache, which doesn't surprise me. I wonder if I slept through the whole day?

No, Zayn. Stop right there. I can't get used to this hospitality. I'm either going to go and run again, or I'm going to kill myself. This is all shit, all of it. There's no point in going anymore if my troubles are twice as fast and hidden in front of me. 

I can't stay here, won't. 

I just lost my group, and I've been thrown into another without time to cope. Besides, if I stay here (which I'm not going to) how long will it be until I lose them, or when they lose me?

Well, they're fixing to lose me right away. I'll take my fill and leave, because I don't even know how I'll repay these people. 

I swing my legs off of my bunk, then pause. How did I get in this bed again? All I remember is a bloody table and--

Who changed my damn shirt?!

I grumble as I leap down, successfully landing on my healthy leg. Once officially upright, my hands grab at and equip my crutches, another thing that I may have to repay them for. I'll repay them before I take my leave. 

I pull open my cell, and again it surprises me by opening. I don't know why I'm still down in my own cell block, but the personal space is nice. It's something I haven't had in ages. I wish I had more of a solitary for myself, because it isn't worth the crowd and cramped spaces. 

I leave my cell open as I click and strut my way down the halls, already hearing hushed voices. There's a few sections of statements I can make out, and I choose to.

"... Can't stay in section D."

"Yes... What if... During the night?"

"He saved... Wouldn't have if he didn't want to."

I try to make my approach more distinguishable, and it works, because the voices hush temporarily. No one seems to talk after another minute, yet I continue my approach. I've nothing to hide, so that's why I'm not stalking these poor trigger-happy people. 

Someone comes into view from behind the main cell gate, the boy, and he's got a scowl very similar to Rick's. He could be his son, or even nephew for all I care, and looks about fourteen. With a dark brown hat he glowers as if frisking me with his eyes. 

I almost smile, but say, "Frisk me all you want, you took everything from me. Dignity included."

He must understand that I'm only joking as much as the Joker himself, and he frowns even more. At least he moves out of the way, turning and making his way back to the tables. Well, then, Rick raised one real well didn't he? As soon as I'm through the gate, and as soon as I shut it from behind me, there's another crossbow in my face. 

Like I said, trigger-happy. 

I don't budge under the point of the arrow a centimeter from my forehead, much less the man holding it. 

"Did you miss me?" I ask flatly, staring him straight in the eye. 

"I don't like that you're here." He states simply, darkly. 

I scoff, "Yeah, well I don't want to be here much longer either." 

"Then lea--"

"Daryl," A woman's voice warns, and a timid-looking lady joins us. "Put it down. He can hardly walk, much less attack anyone here."

I watch the woman, light grayish-blonde hair cut shorter than mine, which, could probably use a trim. If I could, I'd wear it gelled up. But for now I'm stuck with stubble and gel-deprived hair. 

Her eyes flicker nervously to me, then snap to Cross... Daryl. They snap to Daryl demandingly, to which he looks sidelong at her grumpily. I can't figure out if they're a thing or not, but I hope it's the latter. Daryl probably has a better chance with someone else, someone younger I'd think. 

He lowers the crossbow, but I notice it aimed at my healthy leg now. Nonetheless, I nod to the couple and hobble over to the table I was at before, now gleaming freshly. I guess they didn't like the idea of a blood-stained table. 

"What time is it?" I ask. 

"The sun just went down," Daryl's partner says. "So I'm assuming eight-thirty."

I nod. I can't really believe that I slept through an entire day (something else I haven't done since this all started) but I feel up to health. Well, as up to health as any one-legged pigeon would. 

"Why'd you do it?" The same voice, now next to me, nearly scares me out of my deflated skin. 

"I'm... Sorry?"

"Why'd you save him?" Short-Hair asks. 

I look from her to the floor. I don't really know why I did it, which is dangerous, because all I know is that if my kind side nearly trades me in with death again, it'll not end up this way. Certainly I'll either die or want to. 

My eyes rest on my knee, which is closest to hers since we're sitting on the top of the table. My crutches are between my severed thighs serving as an unhealthy distraction for my hands. 

"I had to do something." I murmur. 

"No you didn't."

"I couldn't have let him die."

"Yeah, you could've. But you didn't."

I ponder this, even with my storming headache. Now, more than ever, it seems like people know me more than I do. Short-Hair probably knows why I did it, or at least she acts like she knows. 

"I didn't want his blood on my hands too."

"Too?" She asks. 

I nod barely, wanting her to keep quiet. I feel the boy's, Daryl's, Niall's, and another fellow's eyes on me. I swallow thickly and drop my head to my chest. This is the longest, most grueling conversation I've ever had. I suddenly feel excessively vulnerable, a weight growing in my chest. My throat feels heavy too, as do my arms and legs. I can't will myself to speak, but my instincts do it for me. 

"Before I was running," I pause, swallowing again. "I was with ten people. Half were technically family, but all were considered family. Anyways, we were scouting a drugstore whenever we were trapped by a herd. Everyone fought, they did, and I did too. The herd was so big, though, and I was told to run. I did, but because they all said they'd catch up."

I can't keep talking. Short-Hair is quiet, probably assuming that I'm going to continue, but I can't. It hurts too much to try. It's my fault that I'm alone, that they're dead. It's my damn fault I'm alive when I shouldn't be, I'm always in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

"That's not your fault." She says quietly. 

I laugh. It's sadistic and cold, left with no ounce of welcome. Everyone is silent as my snicker grows into a chuckle, then into a hysteric snicker (there's a difference). I swear to God I'm going insane, and that I am deserving solitary confinement or the death penalty for laying back and laughing at my dead family's expense. It hurts to laugh, but it reminds me of how pathetic she thinks I am. 

I am pathetic, this world is pathetic. My efforts are the most pathetic, though, because just look at the odds of me living through this alone. Look at the odds of me getting through this with a group. Look at the odds of this whole thing being cured. Look at the odds of this all being a nightmare. 

None to none.

Pathetic, isn't it? It's pathetic for someone to keep fighting, for them to keep going when there's no hope. I know my marbles are lost, they're fucking scattered around the globe for all I care. It's not worth looking for them though, it's pathetic. I'm pathetic. 

Short-Hair stirs next to me, and the next thing I know, her hand is on my knee. Even with just the tender weight on it, I sit up, panting from how hard I was giggling. Rick's up in front of me, looking concerned as my parents used to.

Pathetic. 

Everyone's disturbingly quiet after my Joker spasm and moment of vulnerability. I'm shocked at my outburst, and all I want to do is leave. They don't need a nutcase like me to poison them. 

"I'm..." I trail off, stunned at my own actions. I tend to do that a lot, I just now realize. "Did I say that last part out loud?"

"Kinda." Rick Junior mutters off to the side. 

"Oh God, I'm going fucking bats." 

"You've been through a lot in the past week. I think we'd all be a little insane." Short-Hair tries to comfort me. 

"I need to just get lost. Which way is out?" I say hopelessly. 

"You can't leave." Rick says quietly. 

What?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Just because she is an avid reader, I will say this:
> 
> I love you Megster64 <3\. 
> 
> Anywhooo. Here's chapter three. I'm sorry it's crappy, but I PROMISE IT WILL KICK INTO GEAR SOON (lol you don't even know). Thank you so much for reading... Five more comments? 
> 
> And I may update a bit later, I'm practicing for Titanic: The Musical, so give me some slack. ;) Love y'all.

"Why the Hell can't I--"

"Rick, leave him alone. He's been through enough already, and there's no use in stressing him out more." Short-Hair says. 

"Carol," Rick starts, but Carol gives him a murderous glare. "Fine. Liam's not going to like this, though."

"Why would he have a problem with the guy who saved his life?" She asks skeptically. 

I don't know which one of these people I like more. Carol is defensive and comforting, but Rick is authoritative and honest. They seem like good people-- I haven't been here long enough to know for sure. 

"He wanted... What's your name again?" Rick stops mid-sentence. 

"Zayn."

"Right. He wanted to be the first to talk to Zayn, who is probably devising a plan to sneak out as we speak." Rick rubs his hand over his face. 

My head is spinning. I've just been through each and every emotion I've heard about in the past twenty-four hours (I blame the drugs). Now, though, I'm intrigued about what this Liam character has to say to me. At least I know my stranger's name. 

My stranger's? Since when was he mine? I get that I saved him and all...

"You might want a supervised introduction," One of the boys speaks up. "From what I've seen, Liam quite fancies our attractively smart prisoner."

Excuse me?

"And you are?" I speak up right as Rick opens his mouth to. 

"Oh, mate, I'm sorry. I'm Louis, but someone like you can call me whatever fits." He offers his hand. 

I don't know if he's being coy or witty. He seems like someone who would be funny, but he doesn't look like he's joking. Louis stands a handful of inches shorter than me, the lucky bastard also having gel in his hair so it's quiffed up. Where did he get that? More importantly, where did he get those eyes?

I shake his hand with a, "Does Lou work?"

"That's what most people call me, Zaynie." 

We both smile and drop our hands. For some reason, I turn to a fellow giving me a fatal glower. He's got stunning green eyes (yes, green, believe it or not) to complement his dark mahogany hair swept back over his head. What also matches his hair are his eyebrows, which are pulled over his dark eyes. 

"Harry." He huffs, looking from Lou to me. 

I nod, smile dimming, and send him a questioning gaze before looking to his friend.

"Niall, is it?" 

"Yeah," He mutters not-so-enthusiastically. "Hi."

I slightly frown at that. What is with these people? I thought they needed me to stay here? Maybe that's the problem. 

"Don't worry about them," Louis flings his arm around my neck. "They're just shook up from all that insanity let loose earlier."

A short pause. 

"I think it was hot." A voice whispers over my ear. 

A hot feeling spreads over my face body before numbing and chilling. I know a blush is furnaced on my cheeks, because Niall and Harry send me confused and irritated glances. The latter was mostly on Harry's part. 

Louis lets me go before sliding back beside Harry. Before he can look at me, I turn around expecting Rick to be weirded out. To my relief he is bickering with Carol over something new. 

"What's wrong?" I intervene. 

Carol looks relieved-- a little too relieved. If she's hoping I'm going to side with her on whatever this is about, she's wrong. I should probably see what actually is wrong first. 

"I want Carol to go with Liam on a run tomorrow for some basic stuff. She doesn't want to go, and I don't want to let anyone else go. Last time was too risky." 

Rick shoots a stare over my left shoulder at Harry's table. I don't turn back around because Louis is still there. Don't get me wrong, I just don't think that Louis realizes Harry has a spot for him. 

I look from my leg to Rick. Could I go? No, I still need some damn crutches to get around. If I did go I'd wind up getting Liam killed (which, is redundant because I almost did that already). 

"If I was better I'd go." I exhale, depressed. 

Rick nods. Carol rolls her eyes and walks off to Daryl, who is polishing his one and only prize. No one else seems to be paying us any attention anymore, so I turn back to Rick. 

"You'd leave if you were better." 

There's venom behind his words, although very little. His spite is more prominent than he thinks. However, I can't ignore the large portion of me offended and hurt by his words. I would leave, yeah, but...

"Who's leaving?" Someone asks. 

Rick sighs, his shoulders sagging immensely. I look up to see a silhouette in the dark. Only the man's revealed and grease-stained biceps show, save for a shred of light that illuminates his eyes. Holy fuck.

I've seen those eyes. I remember them. 

"Me." I manage to quietly gather, not looking like a complete dumbass. 

The eyes scowl like they did before. It hits a chord deep inside me, and I don't know where or why. The eyes darken and the biceps strain in the light, almost as if he's intimidated. Liam, I think, he must stand up from leaning on the cell block door because all of a sudden his torso comes in to view. 

"Why?"

For once in my miserable little life (glad I didn't say pathetic?) I'm at a loss of words. The way Liam's scowling at me right now, he looks truly invulnerable. I wish I could look the same way. 

"I'm supposed to be out there, where I'm not injured or tied to anyone. There's no responsibility out there, and I want that back. It's really nice and all for you guys to let me stay here. I'm... Halfway thankful for it," I pause, not really knowing where I'm going with this. "But this isn't my place. I just lost my group, and there's no way in Hell I'm going through that again."

"Yeah, you're already insane enough shithead." Louis's voice breaks the silence I expected. 

Liam's frowning in thought with muscles tense and responsive. My eyes struggle (yet manage) to remain on his mildly attractive eyes due to the fact that, oh, I dunno, Liam's a fucking grease monkey right now? I would totally understand if he'd ever let me under his hood for just a few moments...

See what I did there?

"You thought it was hot." I fire back at Lou. 

Harry immediately chuffs beside him, something Louis either ignores or doesn't hear. Harry obviously has it bad for this boy. Dammit Louis, open up your nose and smell the pheromones off this dude. 

Lou shrugs, "Yeah, it is." 

"Thank y--" 

"You probably want to shower. You still have blood everywhere." Liam moves to leave.

"Wait," He stops at my command. "How would you know if I needed a shower?"

"You reek." He sneers bitterly, then keeps walking. 

I exhale, depressed that someone else is trying to force me to stay. I get it now-- hospitality, food, shelter, everything I could ask for-- it's all right here being offered to me. Something doesn't let me know it's free of charge, though. There's a pang of doubt in the back of my mind which must've spawned after Liam shot me in the leg. 

My crutches find their way beneath me swiftly, and I propel forward to catch up to a storming Liam. No one seems to realize I'm leaving (if they do, they do an outstanding job of hiding it), and I struggle with my new legs. These definitely are a new concept. 

I don't know if I did a favor by saving Liam's hide. He's either nice to the point of wanting to strangle me for being suicidal, or he's bi-polar. I hope it's the first. Does the question of my leave really raise that many problems? I didn't think he'd be so... What's the word... Sassy? 

No. 

Authoritative. 

I hobble down the hallways after Liam whenever he turns a sharp left. This causes me to stumble a bit, and my right crutch to slip. I almost fall (it doesn't look so fancy either) flat on my side. I groan whilst pushing against the stone floor, hard, my aching muscles only now effecting me. 

This is going to be a lot harder later on. 

"Are you okay?" Liam's tone is flat save for the not-so-secretive worry in his eyes. 

"I don't know, ask your gun." I sneer. 

Liam sulks in just the slightest before erecting again and spinning around. He leads the way into a tiled shower room, one with a thin wall between the sinks and showers. Liam leans against a sink patiently while I still scuttle in behind him, still in the hallway. The showers aren't far at all from the cafeteria area which I take note of before fully entering the bathroom. The pale ivory tiles never made me feel more nostalgic than the time my family and I, we... 

Liam mutters, "There's a bar of soap in there with shampoo and conditioner for you." 

"What's your problem," I ask, tone whet with annoyance. "I saved your life, mate, and this is what I get?"

"Excuse me," His voice raises. "That's exactly the damn problem! You save my life, and in return, I try to give you common hospitality. But what do you do whenever 'this is what you get' happens? You shove it away."

There's silence. I'm only aware of our frowns (mine is confused and pissed off, his misunderstanding). Liam stands up from leaning onto the sink and confronts me. His body (still greased up) barely looms over mine whenever he speaks.

"Don't you understand the hypocrisy you're going through with whenever you reject our repayment? Big words, yeah, but they mean that you can't just walk away from what you deserve. Learn some manners in this god forsaken Hell, it'll get you far."

And with that, I'm left alone fuming in the shower room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayeeee. Sorry I'm late on updating, my wifi is berserk. I fixed it though, so I'll update more and more. I just want to thank those who are still reading this story so early, and all I ask is that you comment and share OTVOD with your friends or whoever. 
> 
> ALSO--
> 
> Just know that I may or may not have inserted a gardener-kink Zayn thing in here... Don't blame me. We all know that boy would look FINE AS HELL with his hair down and him all sweaty and dirty... Weeeheeeheee. 
> 
> Pre-Fluff Alert for next chapter. ;)
> 
> 5 more comments? (I love reading Megster64's comments. Love you girl.)

After my shower, I take a towel around my waist. My body is still dripping wet with hot water that I spent a good twenty minutes in. During my shower, I thought about how ungrateful and childish I was being earlier. 

Sure, I've lost everyone I've ever known and loved, but I should be grateful these people are even sparing me a kind glance. There's no reason for me to keep dwelling on the past... I have dealt with this before. 

Our group started out largely, what with us first hearing about the disease in a college. The group was about as large as thirty people-- professors, families, students, staff, and even younger kids. The only time I really mourned before my family's death was when my lover took a bullet for me. His name was Anthony, and ever since, I've shied away from everyone but my family (obviously).

Whenever I mourned him or anyone else, I would do it in private. I might as well use that tactic now instead of earning myself more and more enemies than the ones already trying rob me of my meat. So, private mourning I will commit to. 

A small sound tears me from my focus. The door to the showers opens, and I startle. I'm only in a towel, and my crutches are off to the side (I didn't need wet crutches). But, before I can dress myself with some other towel, or reach my crutches, a blonde head pops through the door. 

"Zayn, I have--" Niall's eyes widen although I'm covered from lower waist to knee. "Shit, I'm sorry. Do I need to go...?"

"No. What is it?" I ask. 

Niall's fervently blushing, but he stands up fully and enters the shower room. I haven't seen bashful Niall before. It's cute, especially with the way his ears pink before his cheeks. 

"I brought you stuff to sleep in... If you're still tired." Niall says, holding out fleece pajama pants and boxers. 

I take the clothing and set the two articles aside my prior ones. I can feel Niall's eyes on my collarbone, where two black wings and a bright pair of lips are illustrated. He seems mesmerized and entertained by the tattoos. I can't blame him, I was too when I got them. 

"Is that it?" I ask. 

"Oh," Niall blurts, pulling something out from his back pocket. "Liam offered you one of his tanks."

I almost frown. But, I remember my thought process in the shower. No more ungrateful business. I'm here to take what they give and nothing more. 

"Thank you." I murmur. 

"What?"

"Thank you," I repeat. "And I'm sorry."

"I'm not gonna say it's okay, because it probably isn't, but I understand. It's hard losing." Niall says normally. 

I sigh, "That couldn't be closer than the truth." 

Niall nods, then takes his leave. I soon follow him on my crutches after I've switched clothing. Everyone's in bed now, except for the nocturnal freaks. Those freaks are Niall and Liam, who, doesn't even spare me a glance. 

"Thank you." I say quietly.

Niall has a hint of a smile, but Liam doesn't even move. I understand that. I've been a huge dick. 

I hold the shirt in my hand, fumbling with it as I support my weight on my crutches. I hop over to my cell block door in my pajama pants and sigh impatiently. Opening doors with one leg sucks. It's extremely difficult, especially whenever you have four appendages on the ground to deal with. 

"Aren't you going to dry off and put your shirt on?" Niall asks from behind me. 

"If I can get through this damn door."

I struggle to push the gate open, as it is much heavier than normal wooden doors. What with it being metal I lean onto it and hobble sideways into it. I'm not making much effort. 

One of the nocturnal freaks behind me gets up and walks over to me. I don't know who it is, as I am presently struggling with the massive door. Either way the weight is suddenly replaced with chilled breaths down my back. 

I turn, and in doing so shoulder Liam's chest. He's so close, so, so close, meaning I can see the fueling flames behind his eyes. He isn't angry or somber. If anything, he's... Hurt?

"Go on." Is all he manages to say. 

He won't even meet my eyes, won't even let me speak with his presence known. I know he's looking at the wadded up shirt in my hands. It's his shirt, how could I forget? He wanted me to wear it--

Yet I'm not. 

I lean off of the door and stumble backwards a mite clumsily. He still won't look at me, I want to apologize! I want to do it right! Why do I even want to apologize like this?!

My crutches somehow end up leaning on the door as I stand on just one leg. In a slight pain, my wounded leg hovers beside my healthy one in an attempt to seem unhurt. It doesn't help. The muscles straining inside my leg are impossibly stiff. 

My hands sift through the tank and pull it over my head. In the brief moment of blindness I have (the one due to me pulling on his shirt) Liam calms enough to look me in the eye. I don't do anything but frown in a wounded way, wince for my leg's sake, pick up my crutches, and leave. It's not until I reach my cell that I hear the door close. 

Muffled voices, a chuckle that could only be Niall's, and a sigh that sounds like Liam's take precedence over the silence. I hope they go to bed soon, I don't want to stay up hearing their conversations. Yeah, I'm definitely staying up all night. There's no way I'm going to be able to sleep without drugs or a pain-induced coma. 

"So do you want him to stay?" Liam asks a little ways down. 

Maybe he thinks I'm deaf?

"I think he's high on drama, is all. It wasn't his fault-- what happened to him."

Yes it was. 

"Yeah." Liam's agreement is barely audible down the echoing hallway. 

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"You want him to stay, right?"

"I dunno," Liam must exhale, because he pauses momentarily. "He seemed heroic and all for saving me, but now he's just a dick."

Ouch.

"But you know he wasn't about to let someone else die after what happened. He had been running since they were killed, Liam."

"He shouldn't have saved me, okay? I could've left, I--"

"Why didn't you?"

"Don't turn into Carol."

"Don't turn into Daryl." 

"I'm not, but dammit, I could've handled myself. I could've gone off. I almost did, I should've too. It's like we just had to help each other. He even wanted me to shoot him."

"I don't believe that one."

"He did," There's a new urgency to Liam's voice. "He attacked me first, I still don't know why, and I punched him. As soon as he looked up at me, though, he started panicking about if I'd have time to run or not." 

I did tell him that. He could've gone and saved himself, but he didn't. Liam froze up. I remember yelling at him, hoping he'd just leave me to fight off the mob until I couldn't. Yet, he kept freezing. If you remember, I fought for him until he shot me (on accident I hope) and until I passed out. He took me into his group from there. 

"You saved him though." Niall brings me back. 

"He saved me. We're even."

"Not entirely," Niall prompts. "You did shoot him in the leg."

Liam huffs, "Lucky shot."

Ouch, again. 

"Are you pissed at or grateful for him?" Niall scoffs rather impatiently. 

"I don't know, Niall! He saved me for a reason, he's staying for a reason, and I don't know what that reason is! I want him to stay, and I don't know why either." Liam sounds exasperated.

"You like him." Niall sings. 

Laughter follows, and to no surprise, it's on Niall's part. Liam doesn't say anything that I know of, and for all I know, he's probably frowning. It seems that I've not gotten off on a good start with him. 

"Goodnight Niall." Liam's voice retreats. 

Niall cheers, "G'night Leroy!"

Leroy?

\---

I must've dozed off, because when I wake, Hershel is at my side. He's patiently sitting on a newly brought stool with his leg hooked on one of the lower bars. I don't think he's even looking at me. His eyes are facing outside of the cell door. Is he thinking about leaving?

"Hey Doc," I murmur, morning voice raspy. "How long until I can ditch the crutches?"

Hershel amusedly replies, "Are they not comfy enough for you?" 

I leap down semi-cat-like with my weight collapsing into my healthy leg. Hershel hands me my crutches, which I fondle warily. I don't like these things. 

"They're more your kinda profession." I mutter. 

Hershel chuckles, "It's healed over pretty fast, but you have a week before you can do anything more without them."

"More," I ask. "I'm hardly doing anything."

"You're about to do something. C'mon, son, you'll need your breakfast for today," Hershel grunts as he gets up. "I'm getting old."

"I'm getting confused." 

"You were drugged up a bit more than you should've been. I forgot you were already high on adrenaline from your family." 

I quiet as I follow Hershel down the hall. His strides falter, but mine remain the same until I effectively pass him. He seems to have realized what he had just said. No one here has any damn right to fucking talk shit about--

I have to be grateful. Be grateful, Zayn. Do it for your family. 

"I'm sorry." Hershel says from behind me. 

"About what?"

We pause our conversation as we enter the main cafeteria. Only Rick Junior is here, but at the sight of me, the little shit gets up and leaves. He better run, too. I'll karate chop his ass in half with these crutches. 

"Your family."

"It's something I can't sulk over." 

I shrug as Hershel grabs me a plate. I let him do so because he seems to have plans for me (meaning I need a specific meal), and because he's the Doc around here. I trust him the most. 

"You can if you need to."

"I can't, Hershel."

"Zayn," Doc Hershel reprimands. "It's okay to relax here. You're refraining from everything as if you were still outside of these walls. You're safe."

And then the heavy sadness wedges into my chest. I hate being vulnerable, as you should've figured, but I can't hardly keep up with myself anymore. I keep destroying everything. 

I'm worse than the walking dead. 

"These walls," Hershel continues. "They used to be here for criminals. Bringing you here for safety must've made you feel like a convict for what happened. Am I right?"

I slowly nod, throat tightening. With the combination of a closed throat and heavy sternum I'm all but weak. I breathe slowly, taking the rim of my plate in my fingers. The burning sensation from the hot food doesn't faze me in the slightest. 

"You're not a criminal Zayn. You're just a kid, and as patronizing as it may sound, it's true. Youth such as yourself shouldn't have to fight for anything yet, they shouldn't be put through this. Only the older ones with countless mistakes should be here."

"But I'm here, in this fucked up sewer we call a planet hurting everyone. I've been a dick since I've been here, and you guys have been nothing but nice to me," I blurt, voice suddenly wobbly and hoarse. "And I'm sorry. I didn't ask for your help, and since it was already given, I didn't-- don't, want to have to repay anyone. You've treated me like I'm worth something. I killed my family Hershel, and I can't seem to want to lose anyone again. If I get attached here, which I'll admit that I almost am, I will lose you."

Hershel's silent, but his gaze is behind me. I place my plate on the table and slowly turn. Rick's leaning on one of the poles to the main cell block, and a figure that could only be Liam's retreats behind him. Rick Junior must've gotten his father once I was awake. That little shit. 

"You didn't kill them." Hershel restates. 

I drop my gaze from Rick's, hoping Liam heard me. He still hasn't let me apologize, and that's completely okay. I don't even deserve to apologize with the way I've treated my saviors. 

I retort pitifully, "But I could've saved them." 

"No you couldn't have," Liam's voice sounds from behind me. "You and I both barely made it out alive. That was a sea of walkers."

"I could've stuck with my family until the end though. Yet I didn't." I say back, meaning each word. 

Liam shoots back, "And where would I be?"

Dead. 

"Y'know," Liam says. "You may be sorry for the way you've been acting, but don't you dare apologize for saving my life unless you really wish you hadn't."

His voice somehow soothes me. I am glad I saved someone-- glad I did something to right my wrong. I'm not glad that it happened shortly thereafter my family's death. 

My lumpy throat syndrome subsides along with the heavy weight in my chest. It doesn't completely vanish, but it's still there. I can't help but think Liam's carrying me halfway through this.

"Thank you," I say and lift my eyes to his. "For saving me."

He softens at that, and I think I see him want to move closer from across the room. Rick's still watching me, and Hershel has a hand comfortingly on my neck. They seem to get why I was a fucking insane druggy earlier-- I get it too. 

Hershel's right. I can't be blamed for the situation I've freshly been put through. I can't take responsibility for ten lives (though I try). I've got to understand that this may mean I'm on my own, but I'm not alone. This group of people is starting to help me comprehend that. 

"You're welcome. I'm sorry for shooting you in the leg." Liam replies, wincing towards the end. 

I nod understandingly and look from Liam to Hershel and Rick. They keep steady, comprehending stares on me. The worst part-- they know I'm sorry. 

"I'm sorry I was such a prick about being here. I should've been thankful, and I am. You may not want me to stay later on, but I'm glad for the help I've been given." I say honestly. 

Hershel and Rick slowly nod, and I drop my gaze again. Like I said, I'm not used to being vulnerable in front of others. Yet these people allow me to. I'm glad, because if they wouldn't have understood, I would gone nuts. 

Maybe that's what I've been looking for aside from closure. I've wanted the comfort of my family, the one I've lost since last week. I've wanted someone to mend my fresh cut, and I think I've found more than just one person. 

Rick tilts his head, "It's okay. We understand."

I'm so glad for that. 

"But anyways," He starts up. "Liam, are you ready to go?" 

"Yeah, I'm still waiting on Lou--"

"Wait!" Someone yelps. 

I look up whilst Liam and Rick do likewise to see a jogging Louis. From here, I can see his flushed cheeks, thrown-on clothes, hickeys, swollen lips, and cleanly messed up hair. I can smell the sex on him from a few yards away, which, I could do without. 

"Sorry I'm late, I had to take care of something." He pants. 

Rick tries not to burst into laughter at Louis and the sudden change in topic, and Liam just raises his brows down at Lou. Hershel's smiling beside me (something about his smile is that you just know when it's around) while I watch Louis and Liam. 

"Oh, hey Zaynie." He breathes. 

I finally smile at the situation, "Hey yourself, Lou."

"Ha ha," Louis scoffs. "So are we going?"

"Yeah, everything's loaded." Liam says. 

"Be careful you two. If that herd's still out there, you come right back," Hershel warns. "Understood?"

"Yes sir." They harmonize. 

I raise my brows at Hershel after pulling my gaze from Louis. He takes a moment to look back due to his concern. We're all the only ones up, except for maybe Rick Junior. I don't know where the little shit is, or why he'd be up this early, but at least he's not here. Something about him screams dipshit.

I surprise myself by speaking up, "Where are you guys going?" 

"On a run into town." Liam answers almost immediately. 

"Have fun," I say. "Watch your legs, Louis, this one's trigger-happy."

Louis laughs genuinely. It's a gentle, resounding sound that puts me at ease swiftly. Liam, however, scowls and pouts at once. It's... Cute.

Liam whines playfully, "I said I'm sorry." 

"And I just might forgive you." I tease, smirking back. 

He raises his brows at me before smirking that authoritative smirk I first saw him in, "How can I make it up to you?"

"Bye Liam." I chuckle, and they both go off. 

I watch them recede down the hallway before turning back to an innocent Hershel. They didn't notice we were just flirting mildly, Liam and I. I think Lou had an idea though. 

"Alright, it's ten-thirty. We're going to work until three, come and eat, then work until five." Hershel says, abandoning his plate. 

"Work?"

Hershel almost laughs at me, "Well, you gotta eat."

"Where are we gonna work?" I ask. 

"You'll see."

Honestly, we're in a fucking prison for god's sake. How exactly am I able to work anywhere besides sleeping (which I'm tired of being tired)? At least I might be able to ditch these crutches. 

After Hershel cleans up the kitchen, he leads me out into the open. The sun never felt so good, especially when I've been deprived from it for a literal week. It's no wonder why I went insane, I didn't even have a sun in that cell. I didn't exactly have my family either, so.

We go into one of the fields convicts would've used for exercise. It's about seven acres I would guess, and surrounded by massive chain-link fences. They're frightening due to the odd weight forcing them to slightly cave in. Other than that, wide open spaces all around. 

"I figured you wanted to at least come outside to get some sunlight in your eyes again, so I told Rick you could help me in the garden. Although," Hershel pauses, sparing me a half-teasing glance. "You're pretty sunny around Liam."

Ahaa...

"It's not noticeable to anyone. I just picked up on it. I also figured you would try anything stupid today, like leaving while he's gone, so consider this a healthy distraction."

"Um," I clear my throat as I stretch my leg warily. "Why would I leave just because he's gone? I'll leave whenever you'll let me."

"Zayn, as old as I am, I know you won't leave while Liam's here. You'll try, sure, but you won't." 

I don't know how Hershel knows everything (old man complex?) but it's creeping me out. Of course I won't leave while Liam's here, I owe him my life though we're considered even. He owes me his. How can we repay each other if I leave?

"Anyhow, let's get started."

\---

Oh, my god. 

That was the single hardest four-point-five hour work shift I've ever endured. That's really saying something since I used to help mechanics back in the day. My ears hurt, if that's even fucking possible. 

"Let's go eat." Hershel says. 

We hobble inside the prison, which I now realize is twenty degrees cooler than outside. This place does have its benefits. I could stay... Maybe. 

"Tired yet?" Hershel questions as he leads me through various hallways. 

I reply, "Doesn't begin to cover it."

I'm not even close to lying. We worked in that garden for almost five hours pulling weeds, tilling dirt, planting seeds, expanding fence posts, and watering plants. The garden didn't appear to be a challenge at first, no, but the closer we had gotten to it after getting out there, the bigger project it became. The worst part is that I have three hours of work left, my everything hurts, and I turned into one of those supposed-to-be sexy landscapers. 

"You wanna quit?" Hershel asks. 

"Are you joking," I ask seriously, then exhale whenever Hershel shakes his head. "I'd love to quit. I smell like ten sweaty walkers."

"You're not wrong."

We both wind up chuckling down the prison. As we near the main cell block, I can hear more and more voices. Carol's, Glenn's (whose voice I still can't connect to a being), Rick Junior's, Harry's, Niall's, and Daryl's voices all casually blur together. For once they're talking random nonsense other than my mess. Their voices sound louder as we close in with strides in unison. Hershel's quieter now though his intelligent grin speaks for him. He missed seeing his family wake up this morning, and now he gets to see them. That must be why he's smiling. 

I wish I could smile for the same reason. 

As we cross through the main cell block, I notice the personalized cells. Most have sheets idly drooping over the entrances, but others are open. They show pictures, magazines, weapons, and even sheets and pillows. I haven't seen or used a pillow like the ones they have here since college started. 

"The triumphant returns." Glenn's voice, coming from a Chinaman, greets us. 

Glenn's standing with Harry, who tries to look as skeptical as before. His sincerity doesn't faze me. He probably doesn't know that he has five visible hickeys up the left side of his neck alone. Good job, Louis.

"How was it, rookie?" Glenn actually asks me first. 

I groan as I sit down, muscles in my back coiling, "I've never felt so strained before." 

"A week in the garden is like a month of running out there. I hope you're prepared for it," Glenn pauses to approach me and offer his hand. "Glenn."

I wince as I take his hand with my left one, which is still bruised from that damn tree root. Aside from that and my shot leg, I'm okay though. I should be. 

I half-smile, "Zayn."

Glenn's pretty tall. He's tan, well built around the upper torso, and has a slim neck. Glenn also has pushed back hair (again, why don't I get any hair gel? I've lived without putting my hair up for months) and disturbingly deep brown eyes. His smile is kind though, even after we drop hands. 

"I'd introduce you to Maggie, but she's on watch." He smiles sorrily. 

"It's okay, I'll meet her sometime."

"Are you guys hungry?"

Hershel finally speaks up, "Yeah. We've been working for almost five hours. I feel like I'm going to lose another leg."

Glenn smiles genuinely before taking his leave to get us some food. I look around, and to my surprise, everyone's ignoring me. I'm glad for that. No extra eyes on me, no unwanted attention-- no one cares. They trust me enough to be able to sit and eat my own food for awhile. 

"You're pretty tough, y'know that?" Hershel says as he sits beside me. 

"How so?"

"Rick can hardly work for four hours, Carol can only work for almost two hours, and Niall... He doesn't work. Liam can work for six hours straight if need be, but you breezed through almost five hours just as a pastime."

"And that means...?"

"You've got stamina," Hershel states. "And strength. You're strong despite your boniness." 

"I'm bony?"

"Not as much as you are muscular, but yes. I've been feeding you a bit more than others so you can fatten up a bit. You deserve it." 

I nod, "Thank you."

Abruptly, just by the addition of another group member sets us all on edge. He storms in quickly, rubbing his face as he moves straight for the food. He's cursing under his breath, and Daryl moves to study him. Rick clangs about in the kitchen until he storms halfway out. He now stops, eyes raised and bloodshot with worry. He's sweating mildly, too. 

"They haven't come back yet." He barely explains before pacing over to a nearby table. 

Louis hasn't come back yet, and neither has Liam. They left five hours ago, and they were only getting basic stuff, right? Did they run into a herd? Did they make it?

A pang of worry pulsates through me as I eat. I watch Daryl contemplate sitting with Rick (he winds up not doing so), and Harry edges over to his table. The tall boy sits down, his hands spread out on the table as he quietly addresses Rick. 

"When were they supposed to be back?" He asks softly, not out of secrecy, but for Rick's sake. I respect Harry for that.

"Three hours ago," Rick stabs his salsa with chips. "At most."

Harry begins to fret, "Do... Do you think Louis is alright?" 

"I don't know, Harry, but Louis can handle himself."

"What if the new guy's right, what if the herd came back? What if Liam lost him, or worse, left him? I'll kill Liam if he does that, I'll kill him before the walkers can."

I don't have time to doubt Liam's loyalty while Harry's voice simmers with worry and boils with defensive measures. He seems adamant on ensuring Lou's safe return, so adamant that he storms out to keep watch I suppose. That's good, at least he'll relieve Molly or whoever's up there. Yet...

I'm feeling Harry's same concern, but more inflamed, and about Liam. I don't know why I want him to come back. Maybe Hershel's right-- I'm trying to find an excuse to stay here, and Liam can help me with that. 

He can be my reason.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so. Because I got some quick feedback on the last chapter, I immediately wrote a new one. It's short for a reason, because guess what?
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER IS LIAM'S POV.  
> byyyyyyyyyye  
> (5 comments again)

Three hours of work and twenty tons of sweat later, I'm a bit tired again. Okay, I'm a lot tired again. The garden is now pristine, flawless, and cleaner than the pigsty it was before I got to it. I'm surprised that Hershel isn't even winded-- isn't even hindered by the amount of work we've done today. 

"That's it." Hershel finalizes it. 

As if on cue, a small, clean, and black Hyundai rolls up to the gate. Harry's already got it open within seconds on his own, which, I now seriously respect his physical status. I don't think I could've opened two boxcar gates that fast. 

Harry opens the chain link fence for the Hyundai as soon as the makeshift boxcar gate is completely shut. I watch as he maneuvers the car through three gates before the two absentees drive into the seven acres we're in. At least, I hope they're both still in there. 

I notice Rick jog out to open the final gate. When he does, the car disappears I know not where. I didn't even know these people had a car, much less a garden. I should probably learn more about this place in case I'm here for awhile. 

Hershel follows me back to the prison through the field. We go through the same gate as the Hyundai before he takes the lead once more. I think the worst part of being on crutches is going on stairs, because that's exactly what I have to do to get back inside. Other than that, I've got this shit in the bag. 

Almost. 

"Hungry again?"

I look up, "I could eat a walker."

"Well," Hershel sends a pitiful glance towards the leaning fence. "There's plenty to choose from."

That there is. Before we venture back inside completely, I follow his gaze. Only, I kind of wish I hadn't, because it proves to me how right he is. Walkers surround the fencing. I knew this before, as I was just previously working in that condition. But the fact is-- they're still there. It's a haunting reminder that we're only going to be safe for so long, and that I will eventually lose these people.

I shake the negative thoughts aside and enter the prison. It's already pitch black in the halls, the only thing guiding me being the sound of Hershel's crutches rhythmically pattering onto the cement. It gives me the chills coming through here-- like a walker is just waiting around the other corner that I can't see. 

Hershel's clicks speed up slightly, and I suppose it's because it has slowly become lighter all of a sudden. I'm not complaining, but what could be using such a bright light?

The light brightens as we continue on, and I can finally make out Hershel's back. His head is ducked in the same way mine is, but it's out of wariness, too. You can always tell the details and differences with Hershel. He's good like that. 

I can hear footsteps now, only one pair. There isn't a voice, just feet and a light. Hershel seems somewhat worried, should I be as well? Is there someone breaking in?

"Hershel, s'that you?" Daryl grunts from down the hall. 

"Yeah, and Zayn." 

We turn a corner and are blinded by an audacious light. The beam drops too late to be ineffective, because my eyes throb from the exposure. Holy shit, was that some sort of Jesus Light? Light of the Holy Spirit?

God. 

"Sorry. Rick sent me to get y'all." Daryl says as he turns around. 

We continue on. The hallway is even more crowded now, which adds onto my fear of the swelling adumbrations behind me. No, I'm not scared of the dark. I'm deathly fearful of what could be in it. 

Daryl says suddenly, "They came back."

"We saw," Hershel replies. "What took them so long?"

"They ran into a group of walkers, then lost the keys to the car."

I almost snort. For some reason, I could see Louis in a situation like that. Although I'm not fond of the idea of him getting killed. Him, or Liam (especially Liam, my blood just recoiled at the thought of it).

"Is anyone hurt?"

"Dunno," Daryl shrugs in the pale light in his hand. "Rick sent me off before I could look or talk to 'em."

"Thank you." Hershel muses gently. 

I think I see Daryl nod, but I'm distracted by the sudden opening of a gate into the cafeteria. Liam and Louis are perched on a table, both soiled in blood and Louis burdened by a scolding Harry. His worrying is cute, sure, especially with him trying to look so tough. 

"So are you two married now, or what?" I tease from a distance. 

I notice Liam look up immediately before Harry and Louis. Louis smiles broadly, but Harry is the polar opposite of happy. 

"Fuck off, rookie. This is serious. Louis could've gotten killed." Harry barks. 

Liam scoffs, "And what about me?"

"You shouldn't have fucking brought him with you, Liam! You knew I was willing to go!" Harry spurts venom. 

"As if I was going to take you over Lou. I don't give a shit about what you think, Harry, so shove it back up your ass." Liam's smiling all through his comeback. 

As I wobble over to him, Harry flips him off. The fellow turns back to an amused Lou to shut Liam out. I don't necessarily blame Harry for what he's doing-- I'd probably do the same. 

"So," I ask Liam from the ground. "Did he save your ass?"

"No. Definitely not, it was the other way around. He left the damn keys on the store counter." Liam huffs. 

I wind up smiling. I know, I know, I'm a cheeky dork. But it doesn't matter, at least I'm not the dick I was. 

I climb up painfully next to Liam. It's difficult, especially with my taut muscles from the day's work. Somehow my leg doesn't hurt as much as my torso. I'm not fixing to look that gift horse in the mouth because I still have to shower. 

My palm suddenly slips from the table and I almost fall down. But, as I secretly assumed, Liam clenches a firm grip on my waist and pulls me up beside him. I try to ignore the warmth of his hands on my hips (even when they don't move).

"Thanks," I breathe. "You literally saved my ass."

"Any time. You reek, by the way." Liam teasingly compliments. 

I huff, "So what? At least I'm not covered in blood. I'd take my sweat and dirt over your blood any day."

"Me too."

A sudden electricity from those two words lights a match in my cheeks. They illuminate, I know because I can feel them do so, and I look down. I'm grinning like a dork again. It's okay. 

"So how was work?" Liam asks. 

I lay back on the table, not caring if I dirty this one like I did the last. I have a knack for dirtying things, if only Liam knew I could--

"Lovely," I scoff to decapitate my thought process. "How was your run?"

"You know how it went."

"I'm trying to care, Liam."

He huffs, "So you really don't care naturally?"

"Nope." I chuckle. 

"Then I guess you won't be wanting this..."

I look up from my relaxed position at a smirking Liam. His eyes are knowing and cunning at the same time whilst his hand is hidden in his far pocket. What does he have? Did he get it especially for me? I push my torso upwards on my elbows to get a better view. 

"What? What don't I want?" I ask hurriedly. 

He smirks deeper, "Oh, nothing. It's just that, well, I thought you'd like something to have fun with?"

I gape, then quietly gasp, "You got me porn? You and I will be friends."

Liam laughs loudly. It's a contagious sound that makes me grin widely, wider than I have in the past few days. His eyes lift beneath his brown eyelashes with shards of hazel highlighting his entire dirty face. I love it, his laugh. He looks so carefree whenever he does it. I don't even think he realizes it's effect on the room. 

"No, but I'll put that on the grocery list."

I cough spastically, "I was just kidding dude, I don't need that stuff to get off."

"Oh really," He sneakily smirks again. "Then tell me, Zayn..."

Liam trails off as he leans over my side. My weight almost pushes off my elbows so I can be closer to him... Wait, what?

Why do I want to be closer to him? Why does he feel like a magnet to my metal? Why can't I seem to think anymore? I don't like him, do I? Who does he think he is to make me this confused? Is he even straight?

A sudden weight from his pocket to mine makes me quietly gasp. No one's watching, I hope, but I feel so hot and cold at once. Damn this boy for confusing me...

The weight is accompanied by Liam's fingertips. They snag onto my belt loops as he expertly guides the large object into my dirty jeans, and I let my fingers curl into my palm. My fisting only hurts whenever my nails push on my calloused hands. 

"What do you need to get off?" 

His question is taunting, very taunting. Instead of sounding like, 'What do you need to get off?' I hear, 'What more do you need to get off?'

There is definitely a difference. 

I mute the whine in the back of my throat. Is this guy even straight? Would he care if I was? Would I care if he was? No, no, and no.

Liam retreats smugly. I lean back slowly until I'm laid out on the table, feeling my pockets for the object. Again, Liam's hand surprises me by covering my own. I look at him, because what the fuck? I'm so confused right now.

"Look when you get to the showers." He murmurs.

I nod, then questioningly look at him. Our eyes meet, and it's that connection where you actually look at each others eyes. His are magnificent to say the absolute least. 

To say the most, they're like a golden Sahara with a center oasis of green and blue. They're encircled with brown, as if to protect the perfected desert from a harsh outer winter (the whites of his eyes). Liam's eyes perfectly round in the center with a slim layer of mahogany right against the pupil, which I'm late to realize is dilated. I learned that pupils dilate because of the need for more light. Why does he seem to need more light from me? Am I not enough?

Suddenly, a wave of reality pushes through me. Liam is so far a nice guy. He seems to be gay, bi at the least, and seems into me. He seems valiant, especially for saving me, but I don't know him personally. What if he is straight and I'm misinterpreting things? Am I?

... Do I feel for this guy?

No, no I don't. I can't. Sure, I'd most definitely fuck him. I think he's hotter than the center of the Milky Way galaxy, and I'm still drowning in the hazel seas of his eyes. I love his laugh, I do, yet I love his personality more. But what if I'm in love because he saved me? What if my head is acting like my heart right now, thinking that we're meant to be because he saved me? Am I just misreading signs? Am I just being delusional?

I hope not. 

"You want to go with me?" Liam offers.

"What?"

Liam grins lightly, "The showers, Zayn. Remember?"

Right. Liam, secret gift, eyes, shower, Liam. 

"Yeah, sure. I need to ask you something first." I murmur, shyly looking to the ceiling from my spot on the table. 

"What is it?"

I hum nervously, "You won't get mad if I ask this, right?"

"I don't think a question can really offend me, but shoot."

I know the risk of asking Liam this question. I know he may be homophobic, and that he may not regret shooting me in the leg when we met. He could even kick me out without mercy, if he really got offended. What if he does? What if he doesn't?

I've got to know, though. So, I gather my racing heart, balls, and defensive reflexes before I sit up. When I do, and whenever Liam's beside me, I inhale deeply. It's now or never.

"Are you gay?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzaaaaaa. Liam's POV, yo! This chapter wound up being longer than expected, so you're welcome. Please read, share, bookmark, comment, yadayada. It'd mean so much to me. 
> 
> Zayn's POV next chapter--  
> I need five comments to get there.

Carol opens the gate for Louis and I as we-- I drive us out onto the open road. We're headed out on a run, one Carol was supposed to accompany me on. She ditched me though. So, Louis offered his services first. Usually I would've gone and asked Daryl to go with me, but lately, I've been dependent on Niall and Louis. 

I don't exactly know why, but I feel different about this new kid. Zayn's novel. He's not what I expected-- but what was expected in this fucked up world? Zayn's a new perspective on how I see things, and it's confusing as Hell. 

That's why I chose Louis to come with me. 

"Nice hickeys." I smile as I dodge a few dead. 

"Fuck you," Louis chirps. "At least I got some. When was the last time someone spared you a sexy glance, the Stone Age?"

I roll my eyes and push on the accelerator, "Ha ha, Lou."

"It was a serious question."

"Why do you get to know about my sex life?"

"You want to know about my--"

"No, God no," I blurt. "No. You keep that shit in your fucked up head."

Louis laughs at his accomplishment. Trust me, the last thing you need to know about is Louis's relationship with Harry. They're only supposed to be friends with benefits, but I doubt they even remember that agreement. 

"What I meant was," Louis smiles. "You're waiting on Zaynie too long."

"Excuse me?"

"I know you heard me, and I doubt you farted."

"I don't even know him." I search for an excuse. 

"So," My friend rolls his eyes. "You can still fuck him."

"I'm not like that Louis."

"And why not?"

"Why is everyone turning into Carol? Just trust me when I say that he's going to leave. I'll bet you my guns he'll escape or be allowed to leave." 

Louis pauses before slyly remarking, "How about we bet that if he's still there, you have to make a move. If he isn't, you have to go after him."

"I hardly see how that's fair." 

That's ridiculous. I wouldn't risk my life for someone I haven't even met before. But i already did. He did, too. We risked ourselves for each other. That's the entire reason Zayn's here. Holy shit...

... I'm his reason. 

I never thought of it that way. He saved me, and in return, I've been doing what I can for him. I could see an 'us' in our future-- if he were to stay. That's another issue. He may just leave, and I don't know how I'm going to feel about him leaving. I owe him my life, and I can't repay him if he just goes off doing whatever the Hell he wants. I need to repay him, to be his reason. 

I know Zayn's giving up. I guess I just want to show him that there's still something to live for out here. But, how can I prove that to him? How can I show Zayn he has a reason to be here?

I guess I'll just have to be his reason. 

"Oh c'mon, mate, you just got lost in thought about him, didn't you?" Lou asks. 

I don't reply. My friend bursts into laughter, his head thrown back out of the side of my eyes. I clench the steering wheel until my knuckles whiten. For some reason, I don't like being teased about Zayn. This is a serious problem that I can't handle. 

"Whatever. You're so making a move on that bloke when we get back." 

"Whatever yourself," I shoot back while turning left. "I'll do no such thing. Zayn's been through too much already, he doesn't need me around. I don't even know him."

"Help him out then, have him need you to carry his weight. If you really wanna find out if you like this guy, you'll see how far you're willing to go for him." 

Sometimes I love Louis. 

"I love you." 

"I'll tell Harry." He muses. 

I smile over at him, "Looks like that ended up well last time."

"Oh God," Louis groans and pinches his eyes shut. "Don't get me started."

"Don't worry, I won't. I've made that mistake once."

I will never tease Louis about Harry again. The last time I did, I wound up sick due to the graphic visual. Sure, gay guys get sick at the mention of their gay friends' sex lives. It's normal, straight people do it too. 

"So you want him to stay, then?"

"Wow," I breathe. "You're really interested in my sex life."

"Don't compliment yourself. There's nothing interesting about it. I just want to know the guy you may be fucking in your cell whenever you get back." Louis shrugs. 

I cough and sputter like an old engine. For some reason the visual Louis just gave perplexes me. I don't know how I feel about it mentally, but I seem to enjoy it physically in my... Lower region. 

Fuck. This is going to be a long drive. 

\---

A talk about the bees and the bees later, Lou and I pull up to a drugstore. It seems novel in the way no one has ventured inside it yet. At least, it doesn't seem like anyone's made it out by the amount of blood splattered over the front window. 

"Oh, cigarettes for $2.59 a box. Score! You think Zaynie smokes?" Louis asks. 

I roll my eyes, "He might. And quit calling him that."

"Aw," Louis cocks his head. "Is Liam jealous he can't find a better name?"

I toss Lou the bird before shoving him aside whilst loading my Buretta. Louis throws something at the glass, and it shatters. It fucking shatters. A loud clanging sounds from it, and a louder harmony of moans follows. I turn to face a gaping Louis. 

"Really? Are you that fucking stupid?!" I hiss. 

"I'm sorry," He growls. "I expected it to thunk against the glass to draw them to the front."

"Bricks don't bounce, moron!" 

I then turn and flare my light into the darkened building. It's quite small, and can only hold a few walkers (I'm hoping). We wouldn't have much to guess over if Louis wouldn't have thrown a bouncy-brick. 

A dead child stumbles onto the shards with uncovered feet. I hear his calling to me, his whining for the taste of my flesh in his deformed and mutilated jaw. I don't enjoy killing young walkers. Teens, sure, they have that extra spark still in them. But kids... No. I won't, can't. 

I frown and lower my gun. It's aimed at the cement when Lou comes silently up behind me. He watches the boy with me as he doubles over, trying to reach us through the window. Only, the remnants of glass now wedge into his sternum firmly, blood oozing from the new incisions. I hate watching. I hate seeing his faded corneas drain from the expanse of his pupils, the only thing that proves he's still human. The rest of him-- the rotting flesh, stench of carrion, torn clothes, dirtied everything-- isn't human. It's wild. He's untamed now, and he is only about five (I would guess).

He never deserved this. I imagine him before he turned, scuttling behind the feminine figure he always looked up to, the one he never would've figured would hurt him. He probably clawed at her dress and screamed so loud, wailing through his unstoppable tears for her to save him. He was only a boy, he just wanted his mother to save him. But instead, she probably attacked him. Judging by the tears in his clothes and the agonizing wound on his neck, she grappled his collar and bore down onto him. He probably ran back into one of the nearby shelves, screaming as he bled out. He couldn't have stopped the blood his own mother provoked, so he hid off until he turned. He didn't deserve that. 

I squint my eyes completely shut as Louis takes the shot. Whenever they open, tears immediately fill behind the barriers of my eyelids. The boy, only five, now lay with a hole in his head hunched over a pile of glass piercing into his chest. I may not be a man for crying, but what the fuck defines a real man in this world anymore?

Suddenly, two arms are around my torso. Louis hugs me with a firm embrace so I can't pull away. I wouldn't if I could. 

"I didn't want to do it either, Liam." He whispers. 

I return the embrace for a moment. I'm interrupted by a bark and growl of a female walker. I expect the boy's mother to be scuffling up to the window, but it's an elderly woman. Oh my God, what if that was his grandmother? What if she did it to him? 

An abrupt pulsation of hatred boils in my veins. Before Louis can take the shot, I have her pinned on the ground repeatedly stabbing her cerebrum. My blade makes a salad of her withered skull and brains, which, I pay no mind as they paint my clothes and skin as well. She will die over and over again for causing that boy pain. He didn't deserve that life. 

Louis fires a shot, forcing me to look up. Two more walkers strut their disgusting walk up to us, gnashing teeth making quite a racket. I think they're the last two. 

I go for one, pulling his leg out from under him quickly. The beast topples over robustly as I push my hands up on his torso hard enough to lather the floor with his cerebral entrails. The now destroyed flesh around his wounded brain gives way to the obvious fact he's dead. I've never felt so alive before, when I'm killing the dead. It gives me a purpose.

When I look up Louis is gone. I hear rummaging around towards the back of the store, so I get up and move to the front. A few 'all-purpose survival tools' are here, which are very misleading due to the fact we're in a zombie apocalypse. It's not their fault they didn't expect this. We didn't either-- no one did. 

I notice a rack of large Bowie knives, some with differently hued grips. My hand immediately finds one silver metal one with a formed black grip. My fingers are perfect for the grip, it's comfortable too, but I'm more worried for Zayn's sake. I'd never forgive myself if someone who saved my life would die because they simply didn't have a trusty knife. This one's a little more than trusty or handy, it's a luxury to even hold. It's far bigger than the other knives, and it already has a "Z" engraved on it. It perfect for him. 

I shove it into my front right pocket before I look back to the knives. All of them look good enough for the group, but I doubt we need this many. I'll only get a few so that--

"Fuck!" Louis screams from the back room as he makes a shot. "Liam!?"

"Hold on!" I holler back and drop the knives. 

I'm jumping over overturned carts and items before I know it. More than one other shot is fired. Louis is quiet, hopefully aiming at whatever's back there. 

"Liam!"

"I'm coming," I yell loudly as I clear a destroyed shelf. "How many are there?"

As I enter the room, Lou runs out of bullets. None for him, none for me. My gun probably only has three or so. Three is better than none. 

I pull out my gun and cock it as Louis stumbles behind me. In the sometimes cute koala way of his, he shrinks behind my back while clawing my shirt. Lou is tough, sure, but he's got his soft sass. I'm tough too, which is why I send three walkers to their final graves before I have one bullet left. Lou fingers his way into my belt loop and snatches my knife, equipping it so that he has some form of protection. 

With a final click, our last bullet penetrates the skull of our closest opponent. It leaves us with a massive mob before each other. No, it's definitely not a herd, but there's a large chance we won't make it out of this. We need to run. 

Louis must've sensed my rush of urgency, and he leads the way out. Because he is the most agile person I've ever met/seen, he's already all over the shelves, picking up mostly medicine, toiletries, and some food. I manage to block a few walkers with a metal cart before diving into the survival section again. My hands fly out instinctively, grabbing just about anything and everything I can. Louis is already outside at the car, and the walkers are almost literally on my ass. 

"Louis! Start the car!" I yell over the cannibalistic dead. 

I fling myself out the window, but instead of a thud of cement, a shard of glass stabs into my shoulder. Fucking ouch, fuck! God dammit!

Louis is scrambling around in the car by the time we dump our shit into it. What the fuck is he doing? Why hasn't he started the car?! We're out of ammo and I've lost patience. We need to go... Now!

"Louis!" I almost have to scream over the racket. 

"I can't find the damn keys," He replies. "They're on the counter I think!"

My voice raises (if that's even possible anymore) in anger, "Why the Hell did you take them out of the car? You know we can't do that!" 

"Are you going to worm up my ass or do something about it?!"

I huff and slam the door, immediately pulling out my blade. Skills, don't fail me now. If you do, I'm fucking screwed. 

I weave between storming bodies, some upright and at least two on the ground. Most of them flock to the window, clawing to get out. I'm reminded of the innocent boy they're trampling on, the one who was betrayed so quickly he couldn't have done anything to hinder or stop it. 

Animals. 

I gather myself and jump over their heads as well as I can, feeling their dead fingers run over my legs. It's disgusting, like maggots. You'd never be interested in it. 

Before they can pile onto me, I kick, writhe, and slither upright until I can push my way towards the back. I saw where the counter was, I know I did, so I'd better be getting close. Dead head after dead head turns to gawk at me momentarily before lunging. Disgusting, half-gored eyes search me out as I continue plowing through the crowd. I feel a stronger grip on my arm, and even though I desperately try to pull away from it, it keeps climbing up my arm. I cringe as I can now feel the breath of the walker on me, steady yet accelerated. I brace for the insertion of his teeth on my skin, but instead, I'm continually pulled. Then my assailant pushes me forward towards the door where the walkers came in from. 

I call out, "Louis!"

"Who else?" My assailant responds. 

"How did you--"

"You have the worst fucking attention span in the world. Let's go, we have to get to the car!"

I follow a sprinting Louis around the building, cradling my bleeding arm. The large shard of glass is gone but it still hurts like a bitch. I'll definitely wait to pull it out later. For now, I think I'll just hope to live. 

Within a moment we reach the car. Louis jets into the front seat and starts it just as the mob sees us. I slam the door too hard so that it nicks the glass in my shoulder. Nonetheless, I lock the doors and hold on for dear life as Lou drives off. He isn't the safest driver. 

"That was close, are you okay?"

"I'm," I hiss at the throbbing pain in my shoulder. "Fine."

"Liar. Let me see." 

Louis forces me to turn so that he can see the shard in my arm. Now that I've slammed the door on it, I can only hope it broke off in the process. That or it's inside me more now. I prefer the first. 

"Pull it out." He demands. 

"You think I wouldn't? It fucking hurts Louis, Jesus." 

He ignores me, "Do it, or I will."

I growl and hold the glass with two fingers. My free hand clamps on the seat beneath me whilst I grit my teeth and gather my breath. Faster than I would've preferred, the glass slides out leaving a trail of blood behind. I might be sick. This fucking hurts. 

"Pussy." Lou comments. 

"Shut up and drive."

\---

I grill Lou until we get home. Granted our home is a prison, it's still the best home I've had. The community we have going is promising, especially with the new addition of Zayn. 

Zayn...!

I suddenly feel my pocket for his knife. It's still there, and so is Zayn, meaning I lost the bet. I would've lost either way, but that isn't the point. He's... Working?

I told Hershel to not let him strain himself. Why doesn't he listen to me? That old man ought to be careful-- if anything happens to Zayn without my say, he may not live to see the dawn. Check that, he won't. That's a promise. 

I can't help but stare at my lap as my bleeding shoulder (or sleeve-worn heart) attracts Louis's attention. He's smiling that damn smile that means he knows more than God himself. I hate him right now, even though he did save my life. 

"Guess who has to make a move?" He chirps. 

"I know, I know. I will."

We unload everything before I limp inside, ego horridly bruised. This is so dumb. I should be able to make a move whenever I want to, not whenever Louis tells me to. Not that I would make a move on Zayn, he's nice, super fit (I'll kill him just for walking around shirtless when I'm the only one that wants to see that), has the best god damned hair although he should gel it up but not too much because then it would take the shine to Hell and I wouldn't even care if it did because he'd still look like a sex god that I would totally fuck over--

Wait. What?

I blush to myself as I sit on one of the cafeteria tables. No one questions me, but Louis gets his ass handed to him by Harry. Harry is pretty frightening when he's apprehending you. Louis, though, he's beaming at Harry like the sun shines straight from his ass and into the sky. I wouldn't expect any different of him. 

While I'm trying to tune the complicated lovebirds out, a voice rings out over them all. I can't help but snap my gaze up to the source. Oh my God, he's here. 

"So are you two married now, or what?"

I smile at that. Louis does too, especially in his dream world. But Harry... He's seeing red. 

"Fuck off, rookie. This is serious. Louis could've gotten killed." Harry practically snarls at Zayn. 

I frown at that. No one should be mistreating Zayn. Sure, he was a dick two days ago, but that was because he was getting his shit together. He's got it all together now. 

I scoff, "And what about me?"

Harry boils, "You shouldn't have fucking brought him with you, Liam! You knew I was willing to go!" 

"As if I was going to take you over Lou. I don't give a shit about what you think, Harry, so shove it back up your ass." I grin wily. 

"So," Zayn looks to me from the ground. "Did he save your ass?"

"No. Definitely not, it was the other way around. He left the damn keys on the store counter." I lie. 

Zayn smiles. He fucking smiles. His eyelids crinkle, they crinkle like Lay's chips. His tongue rides up behind his teeth as he leers, and with his hair down, face dirty, and eyes shining, I think it's the most attractive thing I've seen besides his abs. Oh my God, his back too. Even his neck, oh, and his jawline. It screams at me to--

Some instinct makes me reach out and clamp onto something. That something is his waist. His waist, Zayn's waist. It's so sturdy, so capable... Why am I holding his waist?

I pull Zayn onto the table (because he almost fell, duh) and leave one arm around his waist. He doesn't seem to mind-- would he? Is he straight? Do I care if he's straight? Does he care if I'm straight? No, no, and no.

"Thanks," Zayn clears my cloudy mind. "You literally saved my ass."

"Any time. You reek, by the way." I state as he lays back. 

It's a good smell. No, fuck, a great smell. It's a huge fucking sweaty smell. If you've ever really seen Zayn sweaty, it's like looking into the face of God. Smelling him is probably considered sacrilegious. I'm so going to Hell (though I have my theory that I'm already here).

Zayn chuffs, "So what? At least I'm not covered in blood. I'd take my sweat and dirt over your blood any day."

"Me too."

A pause. 

"So," I stall. "How was work?"

"Lovely," He scoffs hurriedly. "How was your run?"

"You know how it went."

"I'm trying to care, Liam."

I pout, "So you really don't care naturally?"

"Nope." Zayn snickers. 

"Then I guess you won't be wanting this..."

I smirk (yes, smirk) down at Zayn. It's difficult not to with him all dirty and sweaty, tan and breathless with a mildly raspy voice from using it well. He's so tantalizing, this Zayn fellow. It's a shame he may be straight-- not that Liam Payne can't change that. I have before. 

"What? What don't I want?" He asks, suddenly more interested.

I smirk more, "Oh, nothing. It's just that, well, I thought you'd like something to have fun with?"

Zayn gasps, "You got me porn? You and I will be friends."

I laugh, "No, but I'll put that on the grocery list."

"I was just kidding dude, I don't need that stuff to get off."

"Oh really," I lower my voice. "Then tell me, Zayn..."

I let my words hang in the balance for effect as I lean over him. I'm not completely over him (fuck, I wish I was) but I'm covering his right side mostly. My knee cautiously wedges between his in case I lose balance or he wants to move. We're getting closer with each second, and I can't help but breath hot air out onto his blushing cheeks. I want to move the hair that's on his forehead so much, but it looks so perfect, and I doubt he'd even let me. 

I watch Zayn's elbows just barely heighten, their edges pushing him up in the slightest. Is that a good sign? It had better be. 

I drop my eyes down his perfectly sculpted torso, my focus on his accelerated breathing. It's quiet, expectant, and above all-- hot in every way. I now sincerely doubt he's straight, but it isn't like I can confuse him. I can make any guy second guess his sexuality. 

I remember the knife I got for him, and skim my left hand down to my right pocket. I ease the knife out carefully, eyes on Zayn's neck, thoughts painting imaginary hickeys there, and edge it into his pocket. He gasps, or he inhales sharply on the contact of the knife going into his pocket. Zayn ought to be shocked, I am too. I'm more turned on actually.

"What do you need to get off to?"

I sit up, leaving Zayn dumbfounded. The sweat shining his blushing cheeks is almost lickable, it's so close, and I wouldn't fucking care what he or anyone else would do if they read that thought. I'd be pretty damn proud of it. But, I'm ripped from my thoughts when Zayn reaches for the knife. No, no, no, he can't open here. I wasn't even supposed to give it to him!

My hand pushes his into his upper thigh, to which he freezes. Why does he have the same reaction to whenever I merely touch him? Am I that effective? 

"Look when you get to the showers." I say. 

Zayn seems lost in space, but he's lost in my eyes.

"You want to go with me?" I ask. 

"What?"

His distractedness is adorable, but I manage to say, "The showers, Zayn. Remember?"

"Yeah, sure. I need to ask you something first." 

"What is it?"

He fidgets nervously, "You won't get mad if I ask this, right?"

"I don't think a question can really offend me, but shoot."

"Are you gay?" He asks. 

I'm so whelmed by the audacious question that my own curiosity answers for me, "Are you?"


End file.
